


Thistle and Weeds

by 1lostone



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 22:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: Daryl and Rick go out on a run. It doesn't go as expected.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71
Collections: Lost's Gift Fics





	Thistle and Weeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lotr58](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotr58/gifts).



When it happened, it happened fast. 

One second, Rick was balanced on the roof of the hardware shop, stretching to reach the window across the way. There was an alley between the two buildings, but it was only a foot apart. Neither of them had thought anything about it. The window was only a tiny bit out of Rick’s reach, and they’d both jumped over less space with no problems hundreds of times before. The next second, Rick was sprawled on the floor of the building, body twisted horribly with debris from the roof on top of him. 

Later, Daryl would think of everything he could have done to stop it. He would have noticed the rotting wood, or the crumbling concrete cinder blocks. He would have seen the dip of the shingles, and realized that there had to be a lot of water damage for it to bow like that. He would have called the whole thing off when the roof made the groaning sound. He would have made the call that they didn’t really need to go in the building that way- that there had to be another method of entry.

But no. 

Shoulda, woulda, fucking coulda. 

At the time, he was watching Rick, as he was always watching Rick. Rick had that cocky little smirk on his face that still made Daryl’s knees weak even so many years later, and Daryl had been lulled by the supposed simplicity of the scouting mission. 

The worst part was that Daryl had been just inches away from stopping the inevitable. The roof went so quickly that Daryl had just launched himself forward when Rick flailed against the broken wood and concrete to try and save himself. Daryl had been close enough that his fingers had scrabbled against Rick’s, too quickly for either of them to grab the other’s. Daryl dodged the piece of debris as it fell, but Rick did not. It hit his temple hard, and Rick had collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. With a whump of building materials, Rick fell through the roof, crashing through a glass case and landing hard on the rotted floor. 

Daryl didn’t know how he went from the roof to the ground. He literally had no memory of scrambling down to get to Rick’s side. 

There was. . . a lot of blood. 

Rick’s arm was obviously broken, and it looked like his shoulder was dislocated. Most of the blood was from the numerous cuts he’d received when the glass display case had shattered under his weight. The piece of concrete, or roofing material, or whatever it had been had cut Rick’s temple when it hit him, and the head wound was bleeding sluggishly. 

A footstep behind him started Daryl out of his shock, and he whirled, hand on his knife, ready to let it fly. 

To his shock, a young girl, maybe Carl’s age, stood there. She had a gun, but it wasn’t pointing at either of them. Her wide, light brown eyes stared at him in shock. She had black, curly hair poking out from under the cap of a white baseball cap with a large D on it. 

Daryl tried to keep her in his sights, but everything in him wanted to turn his attention to Rick. 

“I can help your friend.” 

She looked at his knife, and back at him. Daryl knew he was being stupid for letting his guard down so much, but if she even told a smidge of the truth, Daryl wasn’t going to waste time. 

“Are we safe?” 

The girl looked up at the ceiling then down at the floor. “Well, unless one of the walkers follows your friend, yes.” She put the gun away in a holster on her hip. “I know moving him is going to be rough, but I don’t think we should leave him there. It’s only one story, but people can still. . .” she sighed, frowning.

Daryl swallowed. Somewhere, something was screaming at him that putting his immediate trust in a kid was dangerously stupid, but.... 

“I know that you don’t know me, but I know I can help him.” She cocked her head. “I’ve worked with doctors for a long time. They trained me, and made sure I knew my stuff.” 

Daryl nodded. 

“Right. So when we move him, you will have to do the heavy lifting. Keep his neck as straight as you can. I’ll be right back. I gotta get the room ready.” 

She walked over to the corner of the store, and Daryl realized exactly why he and Rick couldn’t get in here the normal way. She’d made this her place. Daryl noticed the deadbolts, and the apparatus she had hooked up for water. The hole in the ceiling let in a lot of sunlight, and the crash had been loud, but Daryl didn’t hear a peep from outside; that meant that the walls were thick. 

“Hey. You ready?” 

Daryl blinked. He seemed to be going from ‘here’ to ‘not here’; his mind wandering all over the place. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, crossing over to wipe the blood off of Rick’s face with fingers that trembled. 

The girl had stabilized Rick’s neck with a brace from back before the world went to shit, and used an upside down army cot of all things, having Daryl carefully roll and stabilize Rick while she got it under him. Rick was terribly pale, and didn’t make a sound through the whole process. Daryl tried to keep his shit together, but every minute that Rick didn’t move was more and more terrifying. The cot worked well enough as a stretcher, and she helped move Rick to the other room, where a large, wooden table took up most of the room. She had put a tarp down, and with some heaving and swearing, they managed to get Rick onto the table and off of the cot. 

“Okay?” 

Daryl might have nodded. He might have snapped at her. He had no idea. The hours in between were filled with doing what she directed while they still had light from the unshuttered window. Daryl carefully cleaned the head wound, and applied a bandage. He picked glass out of Rick’s body while the girl set Rick’s arm. They worked so long that she had to use a camping lantern.

Rick didn’t move during the entire process. 

It was hours later-- Daryl had been sitting in the dear dark for awhile-- before the girl put away all the medical implements. She had used a high powered flashlight to go over every inch of Rick’s body to make sure that Daryl hadn’t left any pieces of glass. A few of the bigger cuts had needed stitches. She cleaned her hands and sighed again, staring down at Rick with a small frown on her face. Almost as an afterthought she thrust a granola bar and a bottle of juice at him. 

“Come on now. He’s gonna wake up, or he’s not. Either way, if you don’t get some sleep, you’re not gonna do him any good. His shoulder is still dislocated, but that’s going to have to wait until I get some sleep.” She turned the lantern down to its lowest setting, carefully conserving her fuel.

She passed by him, but before she could leave, Daryl’s arm shot out to grab her wrist, halting her. “Thanks. . . uh. Shit. I don’t even know your name.” 

Her smile was bright in the darkness. 

“My friends call me Clem.” 

Daryl nodded. “Thanks, Clem.” His words were heavy with his gratitude, and as he ate the snack, Daryl moved his chair closer to the table, bowing his head and resting his forehead against Rick’s still hip. 

Eventually, exhausted, he slept.

* * *

Fingers stroked through his hair, gently straightening the tangled mass. 

Daryl sighed. The heartbeat under his ear was calm, steady. Comfo--. Daryl froze, jerking up to stare at Rick with wide eyes. 

“Hey. You okay?” Rick smiled a little wanly, and Daryl couldn’t breathe. 

“I. You. . .” 

“I know. I shouldn’t tried to jump for that stupid window.” The side of Rick’s mouth quirked in a grin, and Daryl felt his eyesight swim with the hot tears that flooded his eyes. He made a sound and Rick sat up with a wince, pulling Daryl’s head to his chest. Daryl kept himself from sobbing by the barest of margins, but the deep, shuddering breath was full of the relief he felt. 

Rick’s heart was thudding in his chest, and Daryl hadn’t thanked God for anything since his mom left, but he found himself whispering his thanks under his breath as Rick clutched him to him. 

Eventually though, Daryl sniffed and pulled away, unable to stop himself from running his fingers (still stained from the blood from Rick’s wounds) over Rick’s face.. The neck brace was gone; Rick must have removed it. The cuts from the glass, and the few that had needed stitches looked angry and red, and Daryl made a mental note to use some more of the alcohol wipe on them. It would hurt like a fucking bitch, but it would keep the little wounds from getting infected. 

Rick caught Daryl’s hands in his. “Hey. Hey. I’m okay. Promise. You need to calm down. You took a hard hit and I’m not sure about the head wound.” 

Daryl blinked. 

Rick leaned forward and brushed his lips against Daryl’s forehead. Daryl’s brow crinkled and he pulled back. Rick’s lips hadn’t brushed the skin of his forehead- but against cloth. Daryl’s fingers traced the cloth he felt on his forehead. He unraveled it, frowning. 

“What are you--- wait!” Rick sat up and Daryl blinked again, feeling as though he’d missed something really important. “Goddamn it Daryl, it took me forever to find cloth clean enough to wrap that- would you just. . .”

“I don’t understand. You fell. You hurt yourself. The girl--- she saved you. But--”

Rick flinched, then widened his eyes. “Girl?”

“Yeah, Rick. What the fuck?!” Daryl was frustrated now. His arm and his head throbbed with the dull pain of healing wounds. He started to get up from the bed, but Rick kept trying to push him down, hands on his shoulders. 

“Carol? Carol I fucking need you!” 

Daryl heard a crash then the sound of boots clunking against the floor as someone ran. To his shock, Carol’s face appeared in his view, frowning. Her eyes were rimmed in red, as though she had been crying. 

“Daryl, enough!” her voice cracked like a whip, and Daryl froze. She fumbled for something, and Daryl felt the sharp sting of a needle, the burn of something in his veins. Daryl couldn’t help the way he looked at her, betrayed. Whatever it was hit him fast and Daryl moaned low in his throat, confused.

His vision swam, and Negan’s too-thin, almost gaunt face stared at him, appalled. 

The last thing Daryl heard before he passed out was Negan’s whispered- “Why the fuck did he keep calling me _Rick_?”

* * *

The next time Daryl woke, Negan, Carol, and Aaron were frowning down at him. He’d been secured to the bed, and Rosita was taking his temperature. 

“What happened,” he rasped, confused. 

“You tell me.” Carol crossed her arms over her chest, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. You went out on a scavenging mission, then Negan is dragging you back.”

Daryl shut his eyes, heart in his throat. It was like losing Rick all over again. 

The silence in the room lengthened, grew heavy with silent, meaningful stares. Daryl didn’t give a fuck. Let them stare at each other over his head. With his eyes closed, he could still see Rick smiling at him. With his eyes closed, he could still feel the brush of Rick’s fingers through his hair, or the feel of the other man’s heartbeat under his ear. Now that his head was all the way attached, he could have told Carol what had happened. Some kind of accident. A head injury.

He had imagined everything.

Rick and him together- the girl- the scavenging mission. _Everything_.

It was all bullshit. Daryl rolled over on the bed away from the peanut gallery, staring at the wall. In a few minutes, he’d push all this shit aside, get up, go over supplies again with Negan, or with Aaron. He’d find the dregs of his strength to get done what he needed to get done. 

But just for a few minutes, he’d let his heart break for what could have been. 

**Author's Note:**

> To my friend lotr58, for being a dear friend. You asked for emotional hurt, and I tried to deliver! :)  
> Thanks to Tweedo for making sure it read right! 
> 
> (My head cannon is that Rick shows up the next day and jumps his bones the end, lol. Get the show writers to work on that, eh?)
> 
> (Edit- when I first posted it managed to post twice. Derp. Sorry!)


End file.
